


The Source of Light

by bookjunkiecat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: COVID19, Coronavirus, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Confession, M/M, Quarantine, Schmoop, Separation, accidental love confession, do not copy to another site, domestic parentlock, video call
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23267617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: During the outbreak of the virus, John, as medical personnel, is essential on the medical frontlines. This means a necessary separation from his loved ones. Stretched thin, exhausted, he nevertheless makes time for a Skype call with Sherlock and Rose. Even though all he wants is to finally tell Sherlock how much he loves him, now isn't the time. Circumstances, however, don't always work as we expect.
Relationships: John & Sherlock, John/Sherlock, Johnlock, Sherlock & Rose
Comments: 53
Kudos: 317
Collections: Sherlock Fandom VS 2020





	1. Chapter 1

John was bloody exhausted. All he wanted to do was find a quietish corner and sleep. But he hadn’t been home in nearly a week. He missed Rose, and Sherlock, and Mrs Hudson. The longing for his family and his home was stronger than the desire to sleep. He was going to keep this video call if he had to shock himself to stay awake.

Rather than resort to such means, however, he took another sip of his grown-cold tea--he believed he was on his fortieth cup of the day, but who was counting? The call connected and after a brief moment of blurriness, the screen resolution stabilised and his heart lurched happily at the sight of Rose on Sherlock’s lap, gnawing on a teething biscuit. Catching sight of John her eyes widened and she dropped the biscuit, mouthing rounding into an O. She squealed so loudly in excitement that both men flinched, then started laughing. “Da!” Bouncing in Sherlock’s lap, she shook clenched fists in the air, “Da! Da!”

“Hello love,” he cooed, tears pricking his eyes at the sight of her. “How’s my sweetheart?”

“Da!”

“Tell Dada hello,” Sherlock urged, smoothing her tiny back. He smiled at John over her head, “She’s been crawling all over the flat, dragging her bee with her, calling for you.”

Every fibre of John’s being strained with the pressing need to throw aside duty and restraint; he wanted nothing more than to rush across London to be with the two people he loved most in the world. “I’m so sorry I’m not there,” his voice was hoarse. He blinked away the mist in his eyes, determined not to get weepy. “Rose, Dada misses you  _ so _ much. I’m thinking about you every moment we’re apart.” He touched the screen, putting his finger over the dimple flickering in her cheek. Rose’s face brightened and she reached out a hand too, trying to touch him.

Sherlock’s nose twitched, as if he was fighting back emotion. “I’ve been telling her about what a hero her Dada is,” he said, handing Rose her sippy cup. He smiled at John, looking a little wistful. “It’s not the same with you gone.”

“God, Sherlock,” John sighed, “I’m so sorry the sole responsibility for Rose and Mrs Hudson has been thrust on you. I should be there!”

“John, truly, don’t apologize again,” Sherlock groaned, rolling his eyes. He softened his irritability with a smile, “You’ve done so every time we’ve spoken or texted and I keep telling you it’s  _ fine.” _

John sniffled just a little, exhausted and emotional. He wanted to lay down his head on his desk and sleep for a week. He wanted to crawl through the screen and hug Rosie and snuggle in Sherlock’s long arms and tell them both how much he loved them. But as fragile as he was feeling, he also wasn’t going to have his long-deferred love confession for his best friend be via Skype, with a messy-faced toddler crowing and waving her bee. “You didn’t sign up for this though, did you?” He asked instead, threading his fingers together in his lap, “Being a babysitter.”

“You’re a package deal,” Sherlock pointed out, sounding logical, though his face was fond. He reached off-screen, craning for something, and came back with a wipe, which he used to efficiently clean a protesting Rose’s face. She grimaced, grumbled something and slid down off his lap. He steadied her and both of them watched for a moment as she swayed, righted herself with a hand on Sherlock’s knee, then began inching jerkily around the coffee table, holding onto it with determined hands. “She’ll be walking on her own soon,” Sherlock said almost absently. He looked back at John, “I hope I’m more than just a ‘babysitter’, John. I  _ am _ her godfather.”

“That’s…” John trailed off, not sure how to point out that it was an honourific. He’d never thought Sherlock would be forced to take such a vital role caring for Rose. Besides, Sherlock was so much more than that, always had been. There was too much to try and say in one rushed conversation, too much _ not _ to say. He gave up, “How’s Mrs Hudson?”

“Bright eyed, talkative, and as bossy as ever,” Sherlock said drolly. “She’s been making up plates for the neighbors who live alone. I deliver them after dark, when the streets are empty.”

“Bless her,” John said fondly. They shared a smile. “And you?” He searched his friend’s face anxiously, “How’re you?”

“Bored,” Sherlock said promptly, startling a laugh out of John. He grinned at him, “Busy. Lestrade sent over _ boxes _ of cold case files...I’ve solved two of them.”

“Course you have,” John said admiringly, and watched the delicate colour come into Sherlock’s amazing cheeks. He had to close his eyes against a wash of longing. “You have enough food?”

“Fresh veg and milk, plenty of everything,” Sherlock affirmed.

“Mycroft,” they said in unison, and grinned.

His eyes scanned John’s face, “How are _ you,  _ John? You look dreadful.”

“Ta.”

“Exhausted--you’re not getting enough sleep.” Sherlock’s tone grew anxious. “Please...take care of yourself.” His soft mouth worked, shaping words he never spoke. There were shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there before--shadows _ in _ his eyes that hadn’t been there.

“I am,” John said softly, touched. “It’s just rough. Lots of patients, lots of panic. Lots of misinformation and mismanagement.”

“The news is obscene,” Sherlock grumbled, “If I see one more idiot online starting a post with ‘I heard’, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Been tearing them a new one via Twitter, I hope?”

“Eviscerating them,” Sherlock affirmed with satisfaction, looking smugly pleased with himself, and John nearly blurted out,  _ I love you! _

They sat in silence for a moment, all the words that had gone unspoken for years between them, heavy as an anchor. _ When this is over, _ John vowed,  _ I’ll tell him. Come what may I  _ have _ to tell him.  _ “I should go soon,” he spoke reluctantly, hungry eyes soaking in Sherlock’s face, his tousled curls, the familiar drape of his blue dressing gown. “My break’s nearly over.” In truth he had another ten minutes, but he felt weepy, and he was afraid that in his exhaustion and neediness, he might blurt out unwise words.

“It’s almost time for Watson’s bath and bedtime story,” Sherlock said. He studied John’s face; to John’s tired, hopeful heart, he looked almost longing. “Text me when you get a chance?”

“I will,” John promised, heart leaden as he watched Sherlock try and coax Rose to come back to him on her own. Finally he stood and fetched her, plonking her back on his lap. He tried to direct her attention back to John, “Tell Dada goodnight, Watson! Say ‘goodnight’! ‘Goodnight, Dada’!”

“Da,” Rose crowed. She waved her hands, “Da!”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” John managed, voice tight. He blew her a kiss, “I love you.”

Sherlock watched him over Rose’s head. John couldn’t quite figure out what his expression meant. “Goodnight, John,” was all he said, eyes shadowed.

“Goodnight,” John said, dredging up a smile, “Hope bathtime is easy.”

Sherlock smiled back, but he looked subdued. “We’ll be fine,” he said, “It’s not the same without you…”

John bled a little, heart thumping hard and urgent in his chest. The need to call Sherlock ‘sweetheart,’ to tell him he loved him and missed him so deeply it left an aching void inside of him was so strong he couldn’t even respond. Nodding jerkily, he waved at them and tapped the end call button, eyes blurring with tears. Heart cracking, he dropped his face into his hands and let out the words he’d been dying to say for the last quarter hour. “I love you, Sherlock.” He let out a shaking breath, “I love you.”

“...John?”

Heart stopping, John dashed a rough hand over his wet eyes, looking wildly at the laptop. Oh god. He hadn’t ended the call. Sherlock was staring at him, stunned, mouth hanging open. His vivid eyes were glimmering with tears. “John?” Sherlock asked again, voice whisper-soft, shaking.

“Oh god,” John bleated. He clutched the edge of the desk, fingers aching with the force of his grip. “S-Sherlock…”

“John, you...love...me?” Sherlock had folded in on himself, looking small. One shaking hand came up to cover his mouth. He was definitely crying. “You love-- _ me?” _

Sighing out every last bit of fear and hesitation, John nodded, “I’m so in love with you,” he said hoarsely, voice passionate. He felt a smile taking him over. God, it felt so good to finally say it! “Sherlock Holmes, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

Mouth working, Sherlock seemed stunned into speechlessness. His mouth worked, but no words came. John leaned forward, hungry fingers stroking the image of Sherlock’s face on the screen, wishing he could be there to touch him. “I was waiting to tell you in person,” he whispered, eyes tracing Sherlock’s features. “All this madness, it made me see clearly, I can’t wait any longer to tell you how I feel.” His mouth twisted bitterly, “I wasn’t going to do it like this.”

Sherlock, face hidden by his hands, hunched over, elbows on his knees, spoke in a muffled voice.

“What?” John asked anxiously, worried that this was too much, that John had broken him. “Sherlock, I-I can’t understand you.”

Sherlock moved his hands; though they still hid his mouth, his dazed eyes were visible. He spoke more clearly, “How were you going to do it?”

John was thrown, “Oh-I. Well, to be honest, I know it’s corny as hell and you’d probably hate it, but I was going to take you to Angelo’s, sit in that window seat. Tell Angelo we wanted candles and wine and then take your hand and tell you I love you. That I’ve always loved you, even when I didn’t know it. That this doesn’t,” He spoke firmly, honestly, even though his heart would break if Sherlock didn’t return his feelings; it hadn’t escaped his notice that Sherlock hadn’t said anything about his feelings. “have to change anything.” He huffed out a little laugh, “Been in love with you for years and it hasn’t wrecked our friendship yet, has it?”

Sherlock sat up, searching John’s face. He didn’t speak for so long that John was beginning to worry. “What if,” he asked, beginning to smile, a sparkle entering his eyes, “I wanted it to change everything?”

John licked his lips, heart racing foolishly, “You’d want that?”

“I love you, John,” Sherlock confessed, a brilliant smile breaking free; he looked suddenly younger, shy and sparkling and John wanted to sink right through the screen and fold him in his arms. He’d never let him go. “I’ve been holding the words inside for so long, I thought I’d never get the chance to say them for real.”

“Say it again?” John begged, not caring if he sounded needy. He was helpless to stop smiling, and Sherlock seemed to be affected as well. John’s heart was straining with longing and joy.

“I love you,” Sherlock repeated. His smile was brighter than the sun, “John Hamish Watson, you are my conductor of light and the light itself. I love you.” His voice dropped, lashes sweeping his cheeks, which had gone pink. “I love you.” He reached out, touching his fingers to where John’s met the screen.

“You gorgeous, wonderful madman,” John breathed, “I love you and I’ll always be your conductor of light. Any light I have is reflecting off of you.”

“You’re the source of the light,” Sherlock argued, but he was smiling. “I’m very firm on this, John. I’ve given it a lot of thought.” His colour rose, “I’ve...been thinking a great many things concerning you, John.”

“Oh?” John cleared his throat. “I...shit. Now is  _ so _ not the time. So, so not the time. But Sherlock, when I’m home I’d be very interested in hearing all these, um, thoughts.”

Sherlock pursed his lips, eyes gleaming, “Well then, John Watson, you’d best get to work. Come home to us soon.”

“I will,” John promised. He brought his fingers up to his lips; slowly pressing his mouth to them, he sent Sherlock a kiss, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Sherlock, brilliant bugger, actually made a show of catching the kiss, pressing it to his mouth, “I’ll be dreaming of you, John.”

“Da!” Rose babbled, breaking their focus, and both men laughed. Turning to their daughter, Sherlock scooped her back up, gave her cheek a smacking kiss and grinned mischievously at John, “Come home to us soon, darling.” His voice dropped seductively, “I’ll be waiting…”


	2. Infinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a seventy-two hour furlough from the hospital and rushes home to Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who responded so warmly and enthusiastically to this story. I hope the second chapter pleases!

It wasn’t often John thought,  _ thank god for Mycroft. _ But he’d thought it a lot during the recent crisis. Despite everything the man had on his plate--and it was a lot--he’d made sure that the residents of 221 were taken care, there had been a mysterious delivery of necessary supplies to the medical centre where John was working, and now that John had seventy-two hours off and was stressing about how to get across town to be with his family, a car arrived. 

Sinking into the plush interior, wrapped instantly in warm quiet, John exhaled and let his body fully relax for what felt like the first time in weeks. Despite his elation at speeding toward his daughter and his best friend--his love--John struggled with a mountain of guilt over leaving his coworkers. They’d all been going full stop, working against misinformation, ignorance, panic and uncertain resources. It had been pretty awful, but there was a certain Blitz spirit which had sustained them. Now that he was getting a reprieve, he felt horribly guilty.

This was good though. If nothing else, everyone needed a break, lest they become in danger of both physical, as well as mental burnout. John thought of getting to embrace his daughter, getting to breathe the same air as Sherlock, touch his warm skin, not just gaze at him longingly through the computer screen. Heaving a shaky breath, he closed his eyes and dozed.

Traffic being lighter than usual, the car arrived at Baker Street in good time. John mumbled his thanks to the unseen driver and stepped out onto the pavement. For just a moment he stood, staring around the familiar street. Speedy’s was shuttered, no foot traffic, but Baker Street was still the same. He looked up at the window--their window--and saw Sherlock watching him. Breaking out in a huge grin, John waved stupidly. Sherlock, smiling ear to ear, waved back. They stood for a minute drinking the sight of one another in, then John’s reverie broke and he dashed for the front door. 

Mrs Hudson had heard him coming and stood near the back of the hall. Her hands were clasped in front of her flowered pinny and she was smiling mistily, “Oh John,” she quavered, “Oh dear boy, it’s so good to see you!

John made himself stand on the mat, “Mrs Hudson,” he breathed, “Sherlock told me you were doing well but it’s good to see you with my own eyes.”

“You should go up,” she sniffled, smiling at him, “He’s been nearly mad with joy.”

“He’s not the only one,” John assured her, grinning boyishly. He blew her a kiss, “You look smashing, Mrs Hudson. When this is all over I’m giving you the biggest hug and we’re all going out for dinner, alright?”

She waved at him, “You go on up now, dear and see him. I’ll be just fine. We’ll have that dinner soon.” She twinkled, “Oh and John, if you two need a little time to ah...talk, bring Rose down to me.”

He didn’t even bother blushing; his grin was too big. “Thanks!”

Unable to wait any longer, John ran up the stairs, heart beating faster with every step. Joy was singing in his blood and if he had to wait any longer to see Sherlock in the flesh he might burst. The door stood open to the flat, and Sherlock was on the rug, in his dressing gown and pyjama bottoms, halo of curls surrounding his smiling face. John stumbled to a stop on the rug, breath punching out of him. “Sherlock…”

“Welcome home, John.” Sherlock’s eyes hungrily inspected every inch of him. He seemed about to say something more, then words failed him and he just stared at John.

“God,” John breathed, “Sherlock...can’t believe I’m home.” He took a step closer, paused, grimacing.

“I’ve got the shower running,” Sherlock said, naturally divining the source of his unease. “There are fresh clothes laid out on my bed for you.” He coloured delicately. “Once you’ve bathed, I’m sure you’ll want to see Watson. She’s just gone down for her nap, unfortunately.”

“I’m glad,” John confessed, roughly stepping out of his shoes without bothering to untie them. He took off his light jacket and dropped it on top of them. Sherlock’s colour deepened as John began unbuttoning his shirt, but he didn’t look away. “Much as I want to see her, I’ve been dreaming of kissing you.”

Sherlock’s lips parted, a soundless gasp. He blinked at John, and as his lashes lowered he smoothed his tongue over his lower lip. “I hope I won’t disappoint you, John.”

“Disappoint me? How could you?” John asked incredulously, standing in just his briefs. He should have felt ridiculous, but instead he felt tender.

“I’m a beginner at--” Sherlock waved a hand around, “--all this.”

“You’ve kissed people before,” John reminded him a trifle gruffly, recalling his acid jealousy over Janine.

“Not anyone I’ve loved,” Sherlock said simply.

John’s heart melted, “Love…”

Lashes sweeping down over his eyes again, Sherlock pressed his lips together to still their quaver. “John.” He opened his eyes, which glowed like jewels, “Please go shower now so that I may begin kissing you immediately.”

“Love it when you boss me around,” John purred, smirking a little. He stopped halfway to the loo, “In certain circumstances, mind.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to smirk, “Of course, John.” He widened his eyes innocently, “I won’t start screeching at you like a fishwife, demanding you wash out the bins.”

Turning in the loo door, John grinned at him, “Cock,” he said fondly, and winked.

  
  
  
  
  
  


John was speedy in the shower, as befitted a man who had worked in the medical field as well as spent years in the Army. Sherlock scarcely had time to settle his nerves before the water was shutting off. Standing up with alacrity from where he’d been perched on the edge of his bed, Sherlock dithered for a just a moment and then hurried for the hall door. John might reasonably want some privacy to dress.

Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes, overcome with another strong wave of emotion. Ever since the moment John had confessed his love, Sherlock had been succumbing to intense surges of happiness. Another tremor of need and longing shook him, and he plunged his hands into his hair, focusing on his breathing. While he wasn’t nervous about sex, or even intimacy, Sherlock was mildly obsessing over disappointing John. He had very little in the way of appreciable experience, and John...had lots.

He felt John before he heard the floorboard creak. “Sherlock?” His voice was soft, fond. “What are you worrying about?”

Sherlock stared at the chair--John’s chair--which had been far too empty of late. It was easier than looking into John’s eyes while he made his confession. “What if I’m not good enough?”

“Good enough for what?” John asked, sounding truly puzzled. He crossed the room and put a warm, grounding hand on Sherlock’s back, “For me?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Can’t imagine that happening. But if it makes you feel any better, I’m worried about disappointing  _ you.” _

Sherlock did turn then. John’s eyes were dazzling, full of warmth and love, and that slight tinge of awe. Sherlock let out his breath; the way John looked at him hadn’t changed, even if so much else had. Perhaps he could still impress John. “How would you disappoint me? I haven’t ever been with anyone.”

“That’s a lot to live up to,” John said gently, reaching for Sherlock’s hands. He tugged him closer, smiling a little, “Kinda intimidating, if I’m to be honest.”

“I...hadn’t thought of it like that,” Sherlock admitted, surprised. “I simply thought, well, you’ve had so much--” he paused, seeing John’s exasperated amusement, “erm, sorry, John, but you  _ have. _ I didn’t think that to be my first might be intimidating.”

John’s eyes swam, “God,” he whispered, reaching out to cup Sherlock’s cheek, “Your first…” his tone was awed.

“And last, I hope,” Sherlock said, not thinking of the immense weight of expectation inherent in those words until he’d spoken them. His chest tightened with panic, but John’s expression was pure happiness.

“Aw, love,” he whispered, pulling in Sherlock at last, framing his face in his hands, “I’ll be your forever, if you’ll have me.”

Their kiss was sweeter than honey, more intoxicating than Turkish cigarettes or needles full of heroin. Sherlock gasped against John’s mouth, unprepared for the intense rush of sweet emotion which filled him at the touch of John’s lips on his own. John moaned softly, reaching up to slide his fingers into Sherlock’s hair. He angled his head and nibbled at Sherlock’s lower lip, and Sherlock’s knees went wobbly.

Clutching at John’s shoulders, he staggered backward a step, blindly feeling for his chair with one hand, while with the other he held firmly to the front of John’s t-shirt. He refused to let their mouths part, needing John’s kisses more than he needed air. “Mine,” he gasped at last, needing to suck in a little oxygen. “Forever.”

“Yeah you are,” John agreed hoarsely, pushing Sherlock down into his chair and crawling into his lap without pause. He held one rough palm firm at the back of Sherlock’s neck, fingers tangling with his curls, the other smoothed over Sherlock’s chest, skimming up his throat, and Sherlock preened at the heat in John’s eyes, the hungry appreciation. “God, I’ve wanted to kiss your throat for so long,” he groaned, dipping his head.

Sherlock tipped his head back obediently, spreading his hands on John’s back, pressing him closer. “This neck?” he asked breathlessly.

“Mmmhmm,” John agreed, licking his way delicately down to the hollow of Sherlock’s throat and then kissing softly up over the tender skin over his pulse. “You smell amazing.”

“So do you,” Sherlock said dizzily.

“‘s your posh body wash,” John laughed, and Sherlock laughed too, for pure happiness.

“Is it horribly possessive and Neanderthal of me to like that you smell of me?” Sherlock tried to focus on what the hell they were talking about; John was thrillingly hard against him, and he wanted to surge up and feel him.

“It’s pretty awful,” John agreed, not sounding bothered, “But I like it too, so we’re well matched.”

“Yes we are,” Sherlock agreed hoarsely.

John pulled back a little, smiling at him, “Yeah we are,” he said, eyes happy, lips red from kisses, “Matched pair of madmen, that’s us.”

Sherlock pulled him back, needing more of his kisses, “John,” he mumbled against his lips.

“Hm?”

“You know how you said you’d be my forever?”

John stilled, eyes opening in worry. Sherlock didn’t want to see that look on his face, so he kissed him, using every single technique he’d catalogued from the last five minutes. John approved wholeheartedly, if his deep groan and the spreading dampness at the front of his pyjamas was any indication. Sherlock felt a thrill of pride that he’d affected John so, but redirected to the point at hand. “I’m afraid forever won’t do.”

“Won’t it?” John panted, obviously not worried now. He ground down a little on Sherlock’s lap and Sherlock forgot words for a minute.

“No...uh, no...I’m afraid forever won’t give us enough time to do all the things I’d like.”

“Infinity, then?”

“It’s a beginning.”


End file.
